


the end of the day, i'm helpless

by Spirit_Wolf



Series: peter parker be hurtin' [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Angst, Gen, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker has PTSD, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, and got everyone back, basically the snap happened, but they defeated thanos within the same year?, just a lil warning, kinda weird timeline, vague descriptions of being trapped under a building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21773359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirit_Wolf/pseuds/Spirit_Wolf
Summary: Peter Parker doesn't live life normally, not after his experience with almost dying then actually dying.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: peter parker be hurtin' [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569169
Comments: 3
Kudos: 94





	the end of the day, i'm helpless

**Author's Note:**

> like it says in the tags this describes getting pinned down by tons of concrete and also dying by the snap. Nothing graphic, but just in case.

He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t scream. There’s so much dust, clouding his vision, clogging his throat, filling his lungs. Dust, dust, dust. His hands turning to dust, falling forward. Legs, gone with the wind of a red planet. 

_ “Help! Please, I’m down here! I’m stuck!” _ Concrete, dirty water mixing with the sweat, his homemade suit sticking to his skin,  _ “Please, I’m down here!” _

_ “Mr. Stark?” _ His spidey-sense warning him, blaring alarms in his head, his ears. He feels his chest start caving in. Is it panic or is it real? Red dust swirling up, whipping around what’s left of his body. Falling down, down, down. Stuck. Paralyzed? _ Gone _ . 

_ “I’m stuck! Please…” _ Tears falling, every nerve ending processing pain, sending his brain a message of  _ hurt  _ and  _ danger _ . The Vulture. Where’d he go? 

Peter blinks his eyes open. 

In the next second he’s on his feet, the next he’s on the ceiling. 

_ Dust, dust, dust.  _

His eyes are frantic, searching. Danger has to be somewhere. Where? 

Where’d he go?

The light is off. Why is it off? It’s never off. Where is he? He blinks, eyelashes wet and that’s when it sets in. The panic but then the realization. His stomach ties itself in knots as he slowly crawls along the ceiling, then down the wall. He flips the light switch on and sets his feet on the floor. 

His sheets are hanging off the side of the bed, his blanket on the floor. Tears fall down his face but all he can feel is the gritty water falling from his hair. He sits down, knees pulled up to his chin. His hands shake so he grips the side of his legs, muscles aching under the pressure of his fingertips. 

The light streaming in through the window is from the streetlamp, the sky itself is a navy blue. He guesses it’s around four a.m.

His heart is still beating too fast, almost resembling a hummingbird’s. He rubs the skin of his neck, still feeling it closing up, straining to get breath into his lungs.

He flinches harshly and is on his feet, defensive, as there’s a knock on the door and the handle slowly twists. May’s face peeks through, her eyes so, so sad as she takes him in. More tears gather, blurring her as she rushes forward and takes him into her arms. 

“Oh, baby. It’s okay. I’m right here, just breathe. That’s all you need to do, in and out, there we go. It’s okay.”

He closes his eyes and there’s only dust and metal wings, weight on his chest, his own voice echoing back to him with no sign of help to accompany it. 

_ “I’m down here! I’m stuck, please, help!” _

***

He goes to school anyway. May tries to convince him not to, but there’s no point. He shoves his suit to the bottom of his bag, piling his books on top of it. He tries to find something to eat but everything in the fridge just makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He walks out the door, feet dragging. 

He walks through the glass doors and it feels like everyone’s eyes are on him. He tries to shrink down. Their gazes burn holes straight through his body, exposing him. Every secret, hope, wish, fear. He bows his head, intent on watching his shoes rush over the linoleum floors. 

He feels out of place among the throngs of teenagers who, he guesses, don’t have nightmares of being crushed. Even though a large majority of them experienced getting dusted by Thanos and coming back, they’ve adapted, learned how to fill the spaces left behind adequately. Peter’s not sure if there’s any space left for him to fill. 

He wonders, briefly, if he would give up Spider-Man if it meant taking away the nightmares and the memories and trade it for the asthma and the glasses. It takes a second to find the answer. But then he thinks about the little girl dangling out a window, fire erupting behind her, covering her wails. He thinks about the terrified shopkeeper who hugged him and cried on his shoulder after Peter had webbed an armed robber to the wall. He thinks about Tony. And then the answer’s right in front of him. A big, blazing red no. 

His grip around his backpack strap tightens. Reaching his locker he finds a sticky note, bright pink, stuck to the metal. He can hardly read the scribbling across it, but eventually makes out the letters. ‘Penis Parker sucks’ he doesn’t bother reading the last part and tears it off. He opens his locker and takes out what he needs, shoving his bag inside and then closing it again. He turns and nearly knocks Ned down, he grabs Peter’s shoulder and laughs as Peter tries to catch his breath. He hits Ned on the shoulder gently, “Don’t do that!” He smiles back. 

“I called you last night,” His friend starts, “I didn’t think you were doing that club thing.” Ned doesn't say it very inconspicuously and Peter shoots him a look. 

“I wasn’t. Just tired.”  _ His lungs are getting crushed, there’s dust. Dust in his throat, coating his skin, he can’t breathe. He’s dust. _ “Still am, sorta.” 

Ned is looking forward, he doesn’t see the pinched expression on Peter’s face, he laughs, “Yeah, I think we all are. Second semester is hitting us hard, dude.”

He tries to laugh too, “Yeah.” 

They split apart after that, Peter walking into his English Lit. class. It’s not his favorite, but it’s better than starting off the day with global history like he did as a sophomore. It’s not bad after that. He makes it through first period, then second, then third. Fourth comes after that, geology. Although, he doesn’t mind the subject, actually enjoys it sometimes, it turns out to be his downfall. 

The teacher’s a cool guy that wears Nikes and decorates his desk with pictures of his dogs, he rarely gets in front of the class and teaches, normally playing a video and asking questions after. And that’s what they’re doing today. He walks in and the projector’s set up and the lights are off. He takes a seat in the back, staring down at his desk as the rest of his class filters in through the door. Once the bell rings, Mr. Rodwin explains that they’re reviewing natural disasters and presses play. 

Peter is fine for the most part, other than the fact that each time the screen flips to show a new clip a new memory resurfaces but they aren’t bad, for the most part. Before the monotonous narrator moves onto earthquakes, along with the videos on the screen. 

Every muscle in Peter’s body tenses up, like it’s preparing itself to run. Peter thinks he might end up doing just that. The voice pauses to let the sound of shattering glass and screams and buildings hitting the streets sink in. Whoever was filming getting covered by the cloud of dust that rushes outwards and up. 

_ I was under that, I was under that, I was under that.  _

Peter stands and walks to Rodwin’s desk, “Sir, may I go to the restroom?” His teacher looks up from papers and his eyebrows gain a crease between them. 

“Yes, are you okay? You look a little pale.” Peter feels his heart rate speed up. He nods a little frantically. 

“Thank you.” Peter says underneath his breath and turns towards the door. 

His chest caves in, leaving him breathless as he leaves the room, leaves the sounds of the earth splitting apart and concrete towering hundreds of feet in the air. 

The lights of the hall are too bright, blindingly so, he squints and his ears are filled with the sounds of the teacher’s talking in different classes, his shoes squeaking on the tiles, his heartbeat sounding like thunder. 

_ Ash and dust in his mouth, down his throat, filling his lungs. He gasps, blood trickling over his bottom lip, accompanying the tears on the dirt underneath him. Rocks tumble down the stack of rubble, landing in front of his face and he screams again, his throat getting torn apart.  _

_ “Help!” He sobs once, “I’m stuck, please!”  _

Peter bursts into the bathroom, the one no one uses, and collapses as the door swings shut behind him. He cries, gripping his hair as if he could pull the memories out by his roots but they persist, filling the backs of his eyelids like he’s stuck in some sick movie theater that he can never leave. 

He fumbles for his phone, and clutches it to ensure that his wildly shaking hands don’t drop it. He focuses on opening his contacts, scrolling to May’s. Then he remembers that she’s working, over thirty minutes away. He keeps going and finds Tony’s. He probably doesn’t want to leave his pregnant wife to help a kid in a dirty school bathroom, but Peter needs someone. He presses call. 

In the ten seconds that it takes Tony to answer, Peter almost hangs up three times. He drops the phone, kneeling over it, trying to catch his breath and failing fantastically.    
  


“Kid, are you there?” Peter breaks into a whole new round of sobs at his voice. It’s probably not the best way to greet someone, but at least it gets the message across. “Pete? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” It takes a few seconds for the teen to get more than an aborted word out of his mouth. 

“Hi, M-Mr. Stark.” He chokes out. 

_ He’s choking on dirt, blood, tears. His bones are getting crushed, he’s not gonna survive.  _

“-id, come on, buddy. What’s wrong? Where are you right now? You have to breathe, Pete, come on.” Peter cups his hand over his mouth, trying to quiet the sound of his sobs and desperate, choked breathing. 

“I can’t. I-I can’t breathe Mr. Stark. There’s too much, I can’t breathe. It hurts. I can’t breathe.”

“Peter, I promise, you can. Friday, track his location. Pete, I’m coming to get you, but you have to try, okay? I don’t know what’s going on, but think about something else. Think about that dog you gave your sandwich to the other day, think about the cashier with the pretty smile, it’s okay, Peter, I promise. I’ll be there soon.” Tony sounds frantic and nervous and Peter ends up regretting calling him. He didn’t want to stress him out. 

“Okay, please hurry. Help, please.” 

_ “Please, I’m stuck! I’m down here, anybody, please!”  _

“I’m going as fast as possible, bud. We’ll get you home after this, hot chocolate and a rom-com, huh? Me and Pep are going to get things to start decorating the baby’s room today, do you wanna come?”

Peter tries to feel anything other than panic and dirt and stone pinning him to the ground. 

“I’m a few minutes away, I’m probably going to have to call May so I can come get you.” Peter nods, Tony isn’t going to be able to walk in, he’s going to have to last by himself for a little longer. 

_ His legs are drifting away, mingling with the dirt beneath him. He falls forward, holding himself up with the help of Mr. Stark’s shoulders. It hurts, worse than anything he’s ever felt before. Like he’s being set on fire and getting dunked under ice water at the same time. His fingers are crumbling in front of his eyes.  _

_ “I don’t wanna go, please, sir, I don’t wanna go.”  _

He opens his eyes because there’s suddenly a new voice to block out his own that’s swirling around his head. 

“Hey, kid. I’m right here, it’s okay.” Peter ends up choking on the sudden relief that floods his chest and grabs Tony’s forearm. He covers his eyes, his chest jumping up and down with the time of his sporadic sobbing. He keels over again, but Mr. Stark catches him instead of letting the teen’s forehead meet the cold tiles, he pulls him forward until he can wrap his arms around Peter. 

“I was stuck, I couldn’t move, I thought I was gonna die.” Peter says into Tony’s shoulder. The billionaire thumbs circles into the kid’s shoulders, breathing deeply, hoping that it’ll help with Peter’s hiccuping breaths. 

“You’re not, and I won’t let you. Just follow me, okay? We can go home, just breathe.” 


End file.
